


I am tired (and I am yours)

by amberofembers



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28220844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberofembers/pseuds/amberofembers
Summary: When two non-confrontational people have relationship issues, it gets rather messy.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	I am tired (and I am yours)

**Author's Note:**

> this angsty fic is brought to you by a party of one by brandi carlile induced breakdown. I hope you enjoy the read! (you can find me on tumblr at amberofembers as always)

The car cruised along a quiet road. The sky was tinted a featureless dark blue as night enveloped the grey skies of the day. It was a silent car ride home from the grocery store, a trip that neither of them wanted to take, but takeout could only sustain them for so long. 

Andrew stared blankly at the winding tarmac road ahead of them, one hand on the steering wheel and the other kept on his lap. She opted to look out of the window at the blur of trees and houses whizzing by. Silences like these were thick, impermeable. Saying anything would feel like a strange interjection and it had already taken enough energy out of her seeing him follow her begrudgingly on this grocery trip. 

The car pulled up to the gravel driveway, stopping with a jerk. They sat in complete silence for a few seconds, the engine whirring in the background. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye - nothing. With a quiet sigh, she got out of the car, forcefully opening the boot. There were three large paper bags stuffed messily in the tight space, their contents threatening to spill out. 

_The only task you had to do and you couldn’t even do it half-decently_. She bit the insides of her cheeks to stop her from saying anything she would regret. For just a moment, the sharp teeth pressing down on the slick flesh of her mouth provided a distraction from the frustrating situation at hand. 

It had been this way for more than a week now, each day making her closer and closer to snapping, but she couldn’t snap at him; he had done nothing to deserve it. He’d driven them to the grocery shop, he’d placed the bags in the boot like she’d told him to. But he’d been apathetic at best, distant and unaware most of the time. 

* * *

“Not there,” she said with a touch of scorn, pointing at the countertop, “put it in front of the fridge, there’s _meat_ in there.” _Is this your first time living in this house_? She wanted to add.

He nodded and complied, placing the paper bag on the floor in front of the fridge. He stood there for a moment, wondering if there was anything else he could do to help out. His hands hovered over the bags, unsure of what to do. It was obvious to him that she was mad, he just couldn't think of the reason why. 

“I don’t need an audience,” she said, her back facing him as she placed various food items on the cabinet shelves. She stood on her tiptoes, pushing the jar of pasta sauce into place on the top shelf.

“Let me help,” he said, the paper bag rustling as he reached in to get other items out. Spinning around to face him, she grabbed his arm abruptly. “I don’t need any help,” she stated plainly. 

“O-okay,” he stuttered, the sudden harsh movement and blunt attitude startling him slightly. 

_Shit. Too mean_. She wasn’t proud of it, how her anger took over her in that moment. But it had been there all along, slowly building in the pit of her stomach. 

Andrew walked away into the living room, since it seemed like stepping away from her was the best option. As he moved away, he heard her voice from the kitchen, “Can you at _least_ take your shoes off? The carpet just got cleaned, for god's sakes.” He was nowhere near the carpet. 

“I’m not stepping on the carpet,” he retorted, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible, “and my shoes are off.” He turned around to face her. She looked at him through furrowed brows. 

“What’s wrong? You’ve been mad at me the whole day,” he began slowly, “did I do anything?”

“A day!” A small laugh escaped her lips as she continued, her voice laced in sarcasm, “and you’ve just realised that today?” 

“I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“It’s nothing,” she brushed it off nonchalantly. _Nonchalant_ , _just like you’ve been the past week,_ she thought. 

Andrew wasn’t one for confrontation. In fact, he’d try to avoid it at all costs, but he pushed through this time.

“Well, obviously it’s _not_ nothing, judging by the way you’re acting.” He said with a voice firmer than usual. 

“The way I’m _acting_?” the bitter words rolled off her tongue almost immediately. 

“Wh-”

“Have you even considered how _you’ve_ been acting lately?” She cut him off, her voice rising in volume.

She looked at him directly in the eye, her fists clenched knuckle-white. 

His eyes darted from her to the ground and back to her again. “I can’t read your mind,” he said curtly. “So no,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, pulling it back tight before letting it cascade in a mess around his head, “I don't know how I’ve been acting.” 

“When’s the last time we had a conversation since you came back from London?” 

“We’re speaking right now,” he snapped back in frustration. 

“This has nothing to do with London...” he started then paused. “And you _told_ me to go there. It wasn't even my idea!” 

“It was a _suggestion_ so you’d stop moping around at home, I didn’t ask you to go there and disappear!” Her voice strained as it reached volumes she hadn’t realised existed. 

“I was working! You can't expect me to be talking to you all the time!” He retorted. Her face fell immediately. 

“Working? Andrew, really?” She sounded almost incredulous.

“Yes, working! I don’t –” 

“Any other lies to tell me?” She hissed through clenched teeth. 

“What–”

“I asked Alex about what you were doing,” she said, rubbing her temples as she spoke, “he said you were with friends.” 

“Why’d you have to go through _Alex?_ ”, He snarled, “It’s like you don’t even trust me!” 

“Well, I don’t, Andrew! Because you can't just tell me you're working and then– and then ignore my texts and calls for a whole week when you’re not even fucking working!” Her cheeks started to flush a deep red as she rasped a near-scream, her eyes searching his for some semblance of an explanation. 

“It was one night! One night that I went out with friends,” His hands flew up in the air as he gesticulated, “What, I can't even catch up with friends now?”

“It’s not about that, you're not _listening_ to me!” Adrenaline coursed through her veins and her body buzzed with anger. Gripping the countertop for stability, she pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“I do not care what you do in London,” She said, the firmness in her voice wavering slightly, “I just want to know what the radio silence was for.” 

“I told you, I was _busy_.” He said, his tone ice cold. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Look, I’m tired. Can we handle this tomorrow?” 

“ _You're_ tired?!” 

“I’m the one breaking my fucking back over here. And you just _take,_ and _take_ – ” Her voice cracked as she croaked out the last few words, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She clenched her jaw in desperation, trying to hold back those tears. His tongue fell silent. 

The room quietened for a moment. Her chest heaved up and down, her heart beating erratically against her ribs. He stood opposite her, wringing his hands. His eyes were fixed steadily on the ground; he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered quietly.

“Well then fucking show it!” The room filled with noise yet again as she let out something between a sob and a shout. “Don't come home and ignore me! Or avoid me or– or whatever the fuck you're doing!” 

“Because it feels like months since we’ve had an actual conversation. and when you're here it's like your head is in a completely different place!” Words escaped her lips in an exasperated flurry. All the unsaid words and quiet car rides of the past week seemed to have cumulated to this. 

“Look at me,” She ordered. His head remained bowed downwards. “Andrew, look at me.” She repeated, voice softening this time around. 

“I’m sorry– I really am. I don't know what else to say. I don't know what I was even thinking but _fuck_ I'm sorry.” He said in a single breath. He reached out to grasp her hand, but she pulled away. His hand was left in the space between them, frozen in motion. His heart dropped to the depths of his stomach. 

“I’m fucking _tired_ , Andrew.” 

“What– what do you mean?”

“I don't know how much more I can take. Of all this, of... ” She trailed off. Each word sunk deeper and deeper into his chest.

“If you leave me, I don’t know what I’d do. We can't– we—”, his words distraughtly pieced into a plea. 

She cut him off, tears steadily streaking down her face. "I am yours, Andrew. You know that, but right now…” She choked out, “I- I don't know if you're mine." 

“I _am_ yours!” He insisted, taking a step towards her, closing up the distance between their bodies. Instead of leaning into the familiarity of his warmth, she took a step back, shaking her head. “Andrew, I- I can’t…” She barely managed.

As she backed away, she knocked into the cabinet behind her. Just as protest was about to escape his lips, a loud crash silenced the both of them. It was a slow motion moment for Andrew as he saw the jar of pasta sauce fall from the shelf, narrowly missing her shoulder. The ground was stained red with sauce, shards of glass embedded deep among the red. 

“Fuck!” She exclaimed, jumping away from the mess of broken glass. The crimson sauce had splattered onto the bottom drawers as well as her pants. The scene looked like something out of a horror movie. 

“Jesus!” in a slight state of shock, he asked, “are you hurt?” She shook her head. 

He reached down to pick up the largest shard of glass sticking out from the spilled sauce. 

“Stop. Dont.” 

“Let me help you clean this up,” he persisted as he picked the piece of glass up. 

“Andrew, I told you to stop.” 

He looked up from where he kneeled on the ground. “This mess… I’ll h-”

“Can you leave? Please just- please just leave…” She strained, her voice cracking.

“But I-”

“Please…” she whispered. Her head was turned away from his, a single hand clasped over her mouth to prevent sobs from escaping. His heart broke at the sight. 

More apologies were at the tip of his tongue, inches away from tumbling out, but he couldn't bring himself to say any more. Fearing that it would sound like nothing but empty words, he slipped out of the front door. It took every fibre of his being for him not to turn back, but seeing her hurt like this stung just as much as leaving her did. 

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he turned his back away, taking quiet steps towards the front door. His movement was so quiet that only the jingling keys and closing door could be heard. 

Once out the front door, his footsteps quickened. He pulled open the car door with a force that shook the entire vehicle and plopped into the driver’s seat. Leave, she had said. So he did, but now, he didn't know where to go. 

Andrew sat motionless in the driver’s seat. He could hear the hum of his blood flowing through his veins, the quick yet steady rhythm of his heartbeat filling the silence. He tried to focus on breathing, but his mind couldn't help but drift back to her. The image of her head buried in her hands, shoulders jerking up and down as she took shuddering breaths seared deep into his mind. 

Without much thought, he revved the engine and headed towards the only place he knew would welcome him with open arms, unconditionally. 

He pulled over where the road leading to the beach ended. No other cars were parked and the beach was completely empty. The sharp scent of salt water hit him first, followed by the cool, moist land breeze as he stepped out of the car that seemed to edge him towards the water. 

The silence of the night was disrupted only by the rhythmic crashing of waves on the shore. His thoughts, however, couldn't be further from the calm of the night sea. 

He never meant to hurt her. Truthfully, he’d felt it coming, and so when she suggested taking the trip to London, he figured it was the easiest way to get away from all the tension building back home. Catching up with friends and burying himself in work were all familiar and comfortable sensations. Conflict, on the other hand, was unfamiliar territory, and escaping that seemed like the best option to him. He didn't want to ruin anything between them, and he thought that time and distance would ease some tension, but maybe he’d gone about it the wrong way.

Leaving for London and labelling it as an “escape” in his mind was the first mistake. Placing his phone on “do not disturb” mode and disappearing into the studio for hours on end was the second. Then, grabbing drinks with friends led to bad drunk decisions - the third. 

“You gonna get that, man? Been going off all night,” His friend gestured towards his ringing phone lit up with her name. 

“Fuck, I’ll handle it when I get back,” he remembered leaning over to shout in his friend’s ear to be heard over the loud chatter of the pub, or maybe it was because he was drunk - perhaps both. Either way, he’d turned his phone over facedown on the table for the rest of the evening. 

He sat on a large rock facing the sea, kicking the pebbles beneath him. He gazed at the ripples formed by the undulating waves far out in the sea, then focused on the thin layer of foam on the edge of the shore that reflected the moonlight almost entirely, causing an ethereal silver glow along the shoreline. 

_I don't know if you're mine._ Her shaky voice echoed in his mind. 

_I am yours,_ He wanted to scream out to the sea, or to anyone who would listen. _I am yours_ , he wanted to affirm so unreservedly that it would be known by the most distant of stars. _I am yours,_ he yearned to whisper to her as he breathed in her scent and felt her skin on his. 

* * *

Some time had passed since Andrew left the house. 15 minutes? 30 minutes? She couldn't tell. 

Once he left, the onslaught of tears hit. She crumpled to the ground and cried in earnest. Her chest burned like it never had before as she struggled to take in breaths that quickly turned into hiccups. She refused to let the tears get any further than her jaw, angrily wiping them away as they trickled down her cheeks. 

She’d only just managed to get up from the frozen position she maintained, crouched on the kitchen floor. Pushing herself away from the cabinet drawer that she was leaning on, she grabbed the countertop and heaved her aching body up from the ground. She had clutched the bottom of her sweater so hard as she sobbed that it fell in a permanent wrinkle as she stood up.

The mess caused by the broken jar of sauce was still apparent in her peripheral vision, and she could more than use a distraction at this point. 

Wiping the mucus that had collected at the dip above her upper lip, she leaned over the sink and splashed some cold water over her face. Lingering over the sink for a couple seconds, the tears and tap water became indiscernible as they dripped off her face. 

With that, she patted her face dry with the same wrinkled sweater. She shuffled about the house, drained of all energy as she cleaned up the mess with robotic movements. Conscious enough to handle the broken glass with care but too spent to wipe away every speck of red on the floor and cabinet doors, she did the bare minimum of cleaning and left the rest of the groceries in the bags. 

She knew he wouldn’t hurt her on purpose. She was fully aware of his tendency to detach from everything when faced with uncomfortable situations. She thought she was prepared for it, for the silence and the coldness, but it was harder on her than she’d expected. 

She climbed into the bed, not bothering to change into something more comfortable. They’ve never had an argument this explosive before. She had half expected him to stay in the driveway but her heart was hit with a sharp pang of pain when she heard the sound of the car starting up. 

She wondered where he could’ve gone at this hour of the night, but she was too tired to think straight or feel anything anymore. She drifted in and out of consciousness as the events of the evening replayed in her dazed mind, spliced haphazardly together into a confusing jumble of screams and tears. It was as if she was a spectator to her feelings, too numb to experience them. Still, her head pounded with an unrelenting headache. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing for sleep to wrap her in its comforting arms. 

* * *

The front door creaked softly as he pushed it open apprehensively, as if to inform her of his presence in the house. 

He wondered if she was still awake, if she had waited up for him. Taking one look around the kitchen area, he noticed the still bagged groceries left on the floor, the cabinet drawers left open and oil smears on the ground. A rush of panic raced through his mind. 

Scanning the empty front room for her presence, he padded around with caution. The house was eerily quiet, not that it hadn’t been silent before, but this time silence hung in the air with unanswered questions and unresolved issues. It was far from the comfortable silence they were used to. 

He stalked up the stairs, heart pounding with each step towards the landing. He pushed the bedroom door open enough to stick his head in. 

His eyes drifted to where her body lay on the bed. She was curled up beneath the sheets, faced away from the door. She remained strictly on her side of the bed, leaving his side tidily made.

He moved towards her instinctively, without much control over his limbs. He climbed on top of the sheets and waited for a response from her. Not prepared for any reaction in particular, he froze when she stirred in her sleep. His breathing quickened as she rolled on her back to face him. She felt the dip in the bed before she’d fully awakened. Then, she heard his breathing. He didn’t know, but she was taking in breaths just as deep as his.

Her eyes drifted to his, and it was over. 

His hand laid upon her face in a rough caress. He scanned her face for any sign of contempt but all he saw were tired eyes and tear-stained cheeks. His body burned with guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed, his voice raspy with disuse. 

All the conflict, though unresolved, seemed miniscule at this moment. Her breathing softened, as did her gaze. She placed a hand over his, giving him a small nod. The touch, ever gentle and affirmatory, eased his racing mind. 

“I am yours,” he whispered once, but once wasn’t enough.

He shifted closer to her, his hand moving from her cheek to the back of her head. Gently resting his forehead on hers, he whispered a second, third time - I am yours. 


End file.
